


Lost Souls

by Foxipaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxipaw/pseuds/Foxipaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of a tumblr AU Prompt: AU where people age until they reach 18 and then stop aging until they meet their soul mate so they can grow old together.</p>
<p>Or, in which Lexa is a 309 year old broody mess, her only friend Anya has just begun to age at long last, and Lexa really isn't sure if the day-to-day hope of finally finding someone to die with is really worth it anymore.</p>
<p>Angst and grime, feels and crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Souls

 

Her coffee is cold and too bitter. It's thick on her tongue and she doesn't care how long the pot has been brewing for. She tears the corner of her third sugar packet and dumps it in.

Normally the little diner has one or two other occupants this time of night, some of them Lexa even knows by name. The waitress, a short woman with a dumpy scowl on her face, knows her order. Every time she comes in its three cups of black coffee, and sometimes some toast. Lexa won't tell her how much the coffee makes her hands shake, and she doesn't bitch about how little sleep shes getting. Its not that kind of arrangement. She looks about fifty-four, but as for how long she's been around? There's no way to tell. Lexa wonders who her partner is.

She sits in silence and stares out the glass, at first surveying the dirty sidewalk outside but eventually her interest is more caught by all that reflects back at her. The grubby little diner makes for as interesting a story as the old cigarette butts on the corner, the man asleep in the alley.

The booths are ratty and in disrepair, the cushions patches and the tables all lean and lilt to one side or another. The surface of the bar has been scuffed a thousand times, shows long years of use. Every one of the barstools squeak. The checkered linoleum tile is a dull grey and white and filthy. Three tables are far past needing bussed. The smell of grease is thick in the air.

Lexa takes in a deep breath and it stings her lungs. She figures she's just getting over something minor, but her throat is raw and her head aches. At first she thought she was just crashing, but now with the lukewarm cup in her palm she's wonders. She can feel the weight of her pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her coat and is half tempted to step outside. No, she tells herself. Its only been half an hour. You don't need another yet. Her grip tightens on her mug.

“Toast tonight?” The waitress' voice sounds over her shoulder. It startles her out of her thoughts.

“Sure,” she replies. She'd picked up another shift, she had a few bucks to spare. And she was past hungry.

Outside a truck roars past, muted by the thing glass. The smoke coming from its exhaust vent makes her shiver.

Her phone buzzes and she lets her eyes sink closed. Maybe if she wills it away, the message will disappear. She just wants to sit there and enjoy the quiet, but she reaches for it anyways.

 

**Anya – 1:12AM:** You know I hate having to check in on you.

**Lexa – 1:15AM:** Then don't. I'm fine.

**Anya – 1:15AM:** If you're not here when I wake up tomorrow I'm changing the locks. And fuck you if you think I won't.

 

Lexa lets out a long sigh, part frustration and part defeat. No, she hadn't been planning on going home. Her bed was there, and she knew she would feel obligated to try and sleep. She wasn't in the habit of putting herself in positions of failure. Slowly she brought the mug up to her lips, trying not to think of how she would reply.

 

**Anya – 1:17AM:** I'm fucking serious, Lexa.

**Lexa – 1:25AM:** I'll be home.

 

She turned her phone off then and stood, laying a few worn bills on the table top to pay for food she hadn't received yet. She caught the waitress' confused stare in the reflection of the glass door on her way out, and hunched her shoulders against it. The cold bit at her fingers when she pulled a cigarette from her pack, lit up, and took a long drag.

Three hundred and nine years today. She had forgotten more about her own life than she'd ever know. Fourteen years since Costia had sat across her with tears in her eyes. It'd been seven years together, but neither had changed. Whatever Lexa had felt, whatever she'd thought love was... She had been wrong. Costia had left her sitting there in that restaurant, and now her birthdays were nothing but bitter reminders that no matter her age, it still hadn't made her wise.

She dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it beneath the thick sole of her boots. Lexa re-wrapped her scarf and turned for home, where Anya and her new girlfriend were waiting. Anya, who finally looked older than eighteen. Anya, who would one day die at Raven's side, leaving Lexa alone in this mire of immortality.

She pulled another cig from her pack, to keep her company.

 

She'd seen some shit, okay? And even with all the help available for those who'd been around for a while, it was _different_ when you were living it. She didn't remember much from her childhood, before she stopped aging, before she knew how heavy time could be, except her mother's face forcing a happy smile. “Some people have to wait a long time for their soulmate,” she'd said with a smile and a laugh, like it was nothing, but it wasn't funny. Lexa was one year older than the UK.

She'd moved from England to America during the Industrial Revolution, she'd gone back overseas for both world wars, even serving in the Women's Auxiliary Army Corp as a driver. She'd worked countless jobs, seen the world, climbed mountains and sailed seas. But the languages she could speak didn't help her, her war stories and bits of “wisdom” only seemed to drive people away when they realized just how old she was.

No on wanted to waste their time on the unloveable.

It was snowing by the time she stood on Anya's stoop. Even if she lived there, it didn't feel like _her_ place. Especially now that Raven had moved in. Lexa liked Anya's girlfriend, if only because of how happy she seemed to make her one friend, but everything she stood for made Lexa's stomach churn. She shifted her feet, and felt the snow crunching under her boots. Her head fell low.

How hard would it be to just sit down and let the cold take her? She promised Anya she would come home and she _had_. Deal fulfilled, right? Even as her hand gripped the handle and turned, pushed inwards, it seemed like an okay option.

“There she is,” she heard from the other side, mumbled under the breath and exasperated.

“Here I am,” she agreed in a flat voice, pushing into and through the living room without lifting her gaze from the floor. They had company over, but it was something Lexa could feel more than see. The room was hot with bodies, and the air was charged with a baited silence.

She heard footsteps on the creaking floor boards behind her. “Not gonna come say hi?” Anya sounded pissed.

“Not tonight,” she whispered back. Fuck, Anya should know better than this. Lexa might have even gotten mad if she didn't know exactly how far she'd been pushing her friend lately. Maybe she'd save up and get something nice for Anya to apologize for being such a bitch, but not right then. Not tonight.

All she heard in response was a sigh, drawn out and agitated. Somewhere back in the living room the TV would unpause, and gentle chatter swept in to fill the otherwise awkward silence. Lexa ducked into her room and shut the door securely behind her.

She loved the way the air would change in a closed room. Everything quiet, still, more peaceful than before. She tried to ignore the sound of the TV until she could scrabble through the mess on her bed and find her headphones. Lexa never cared what was playing, provided she could turn it up loud enough to drown out real conversation. Songs never surprised her with some witty comment or endearing turn-of-phrase. They never said anything rude or pushy that might hint at this or that. She didn't have to dissect or song, found out some ultimate truth about them.

Once upon a time she had been clean, and orderly. She had kept her spaces in order and lived life with purpose. She would survive until she found her love, and then set out to make a steady living for her children. To think that she'd ever believed life could be so simple brought a wry, deprecating smile to her face. How many years, she'd asked her Mom. How long will I have to wait?

Not long after that, Daddy had died, and she had followed. Lexa had led their funerary processions. Three decades later she'd lost Gustus. And now she'd lost Costia too, and the fourteen years since still felt as raw as if it had happened yesterday. Time had no meaning for her anymore. She would see young love, people that might only get eighty or ninety years, complain about the speed of life around them. Everyone was either going too fast or too slow, all trying to manage something they couldn't control.

_It's all useless,_ she wanted to tell them.

Lexa fell sideways onto her bed, and yelped when something jabbed her in the ribs. Fishing amidst the sea of blankets she pulled out a hair brush, and scowled. Now her room was a sty, and had been for weeks upon months. Occasionally Anya would burst in and make her tidy the space, but it had been a while since she'd gotten that very necessary kick in the ass.

Someone knocked on her door.

The noise made her jump before it made her glare, though glare she did, trying to burn holes through whoever stood on the other side.

“I said not tonight, Anya.”

Her friend let loose an exasperated sigh, then said, “Just let me introduce you, okay? Don't have to be such a fucker about it.”

She opened her mouth to assert that she hadn't been _anything_ lately, but just ended up snapping it shut. She'd been leaving early and coming home late, paying rent by leaving money on the table, small gifts left at odd hours, just _evading_ in general. She knew it as well as her friend did, and even if she wasn't going to talk about it, leave it to Anya to make sure she didn't stay in a funk for too long.

“Don't make me pick the lock,” Anya threatened to cope with the silence.

It was Lexa's turn to sigh, loud and frustrated, but she stood. When she pulled the door inwards she found Anya scowling at her from the other side, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Lexa couldn't read minds, but that didn't mean she didn't know what Anya was thinking. Why the hell was she so stubborn?

Instead of speaking, she was taken roughly by the elbow and dragged back out into the main living space. Two couches and a love seat pointed towards a TV on the wall, and all three were occupied. Anya cleared her throat and pulled their attention.

“Right guys, this is my room mate. She's not quite as dour as she seems, I promise.

_Heh_ , Lexa scoffed within her thoughts. _You shouldn't lie, Anya. Its rude._

“Anyways, introduce yourselves before she scurries off again.”

A dorky looking boy was the first to jump in. “I'm Jasper,” he said was a grin too large, and a tone too close to flirtation for her liking. “This here is my bro Monty,” he said, gesturing to a slighter boy sitting at his side, one who didn't look all too keen on being spoken for. Still, he nodded and smiled. Beside them sat a girl and a boy, both similar in color and facial structure. Siblings then, most likely. She learned their names were Bellamy and Octavia. Or the girl's other side sat a man named Lincoln, who Lexa swore she'd seen around somewhere.

Finally, on the far end of the last couch sat a blonde girl, well built and pretty. She seemed engrossed in a piece of paper, and held a pen clamped between her teeth. Lexa cocked her head to the side.

“And lastly we have Clarke,” Anya said at last, seeing as her friend clearly wasn't in a mood to talk. Lexa could respect that. The girl only grunted and gaze a little wave, not looking up from... whatever it was that had grabbed her attention.

Lexa's eyes lit over the empty beer bottles surrounding them all, the worn out re-run playing on the TV, the books scattered around end tables, spines all too worn. She grit her teeth and forced a smirk, trying not to wonder how old everyone in that room was. Forced herself not to ask questions, to not care if maybe, _finally_ , this was it.

It was a habit born of desperation, and she knew it it. The thought of that dependency made her sick.


End file.
